Just Desserts
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: "A cupcake?" She ground out through clenched teeth. "You're finding fault with the way I ate a cupcake?" It sounded completely asinine when she put it like that, but Han wasn't going to back down. She had dragged him into this, and he intended to see it through.


A/N: I was sitting on my couch, minding my own business, eating a piece of cake, when all of a sudden, an idea stole into my head. So I wrote it. Hope you enjoy! Disclaimer: I neither own nor am affiliated with Star Wars in any way.

Just Desserts

He'd been staring at her strangely for about five minutes now. Mild shock and faint disgust mingled together on his handsome, irritating face. She tried to ignore him, tried to pretend he wasn't in the room—a difficult task, considering that he was flying the _Falcon_ and she was his co-pilot. (Normally, she wouldn't mind his staring at her—the staring usually led to other, more pleasurable activities—but she just couldn't stand the half-witted way he was looking at her now.) She thought about getting up and going somewhere else, but the ship was only so big, and he would almost certainly follow her.

"What?" She finally burst out, impatient.

He jumped, shaking his head, obviously unaware that he'd been gawking. "Huh? Nothing."

"You," she said, trying so hard to keep her voice level, "are you an outstandingly terrible liar."

He shifted uncomfortably, never taking his focus from the ship's navigational computer, even though they were in hyperspace and would be for some hours. "Just thinking, that's all."

"You're not known for your philosophical musings, either," she quipped sourly. "Spit it out, flyboy."

Han Solo sighed with all the resignation of a man being led to slaughter. His eyes flicked briefly to her face. She had turned in her seat to fully face him, and a thousand warning bells were blaring in his mind. He'd seen that simmering look in her eyes before. He rolled his own eyes heavenward, maybe saying a silent prayer. "Just something I hadn't noticed about you before. No big deal."

"No big deal," she repeated flatly.

"No big deal." His instincts were screaming _STOP THIS CONVERSATION RIGHT NOW_ , but he often failed to listen to his instincts where Leia Organa was concerned.

"So then explain to me why you were staring like a total moron if it was, as you say, ' _no big deal_.'"

He half-smiled, defeated, but trying to spin a little charm. "It's really dumb. You're gonna laugh." The tone of his voice indicated that he knew very well she would _not_ laugh.

"Regale me."

With a groan, Han said, "Okay, you know that little dessert you were eating a while ago?"

Leia's eyebrows rose. Was he talking about the pastry he'd surprised her with from her favorite bakery? What a bizarre turn this was taking! She was, for the moment, disarmed. "What about it?"

"It's just, I noticed the way you were eating it, that's all."

"I hope this isn't turning in to an exposition on table manners," she warned. "That would be rich coming from you."

He tried his best not to prickle at her comment. He had, unbeknownst to her, been asking C-3PO to advise him on formal etiquette so that he wouldn't embarrass Leia whenever they went to one of those formal functions. "No, it's not," he replied evenly.

" _Then what is it?_ "

Han clenched his jaw. Could she just not let this _go_?

"Solo!"

"I didn't know I was married to the kind of person who eats a cupcake with a fork—that's what I was thinking about!" He barked. "Are you happy now?"

For a microsecond, all Leia could do was blink. Before she was even conscious of moving, she had hauled herself to her feet and stood with her hands on her hips. It was a combative posture. "A cupcake?" She ground out through clenched teeth. "You're finding fault with the way I ate a cupcake?"

It sounded completely asinine when she put it like that, but Han wasn't going to back down. She had dragged him into this, and he intended to see it through.

"It's pretentious! You even scraped the frosting off—that's the best part!" He sputtered. The color in his face was starting to rise. "Such a politician-y thing to do! We're not at one of those banquets, you know, it's just you and me and—"

"What on—have you lost your mind?" She shouted, eyes flashing dangerously. He was standing toe-to-toe with her now, towering nearly a foot above her, but she was wholly unintimidated. "The first time I met you, we were diving into a trash compactor— _my_ idea! You've seen me fight and bleed for the Rebellion, and you're calling me pretentious?" She shoved him roughly, though it did little to upset his balance. "Han Solo, how dare you!"

She turned and stormed out of the cockpit, if only to hide her face and keep him from seeing that tears were threatening to spill. She hated crying, and she especially hated crying when there was nothing substantial to cry about. This wasn't even a blip on the radar of all the spats they'd had in the years they'd known each other, but her emotions were rolling.

She could hear him following her, but she went into their tiny, shared cabin anyway, hoping to give the impression that she wanted time alone. Predictably, he couldn't take the hint.

She stood with her back to him, pretending to fold some clothes that were scattered on the bed.

"Leia." His tone was much gentler than it had been moments before, but there was still enough of an edge to make her bristle.

"For your information," she said, turning to face him, "I used the fork and plate thinking you'd prefer not to have pastry crumbs scattered all over the cockpit. This ship takes enough abuse as it is." She took a breath, trying to keep her cool, and failing miserably. Each subsequent word inched closer and closer to yelling. "And as for the frosting. I took it off because the doctor advised me to monitor my blood glucose level when I went to the med-center last week, because a reading too high could be harmful to the ba—"

She gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, but it was too late. All anger evaporated and she felt light-headed. She hadn't meant to—

"The—the _what_?" Han's face was nearly ashen. "Leia, are you pregnant?"

She blushed a deep shade of red and was unable to meet his eye. "Yes."

If he hadn't already been leaning against the wall, he would have fallen over. "Oh boy," he whispered. He doubled over, bracing his palms against his knees.

"Lie down before you faint," she ordered weakly, tugging his hand. "I'll never be able to help you up if you go down."

He didn't argue, but moved immediately to the bed, pulling her in with him. He lay on his back, one arm propped under his head and the other circling around Leia. Her head was on his shoulder.

"A baby," he said to himself, a thousand-watt grin lighting his features. His head was spinning as he started to imagine what it would be like to hold his own baby, to raise a child who could inherit his wife's bright eyes and indomitable spirit. Would it be a boy or girl? Perhaps both—! "Twins?" He gasped, considering the possibility.

She shook her head, face buried in his shirt. "No."

Han realized in alarm that his shoulder was damp and Leia was crying. In the four years he'd known her, he'd only seen her cry once, and that had been in grief over losing Alderaan. "Hey," he said gently, caressing her neck. "Look at me."

She drew herself up and so did he. They sat knee-to-knee. He reached out to wipe the tears from her flaming cheeks.

"I didn't intend to tell you this way," she said apologetically, miserably, tears flowing again.

"How far are you?"

"Fourteen weeks."

His eyes widened as he did the math; she was already a third of the way through the pregnancy! "How long have you known?"

She hesitated this time. "Eight weeks."

"Eight weeks," he repeated, dumbfounded. His eyebrows rose and Leia detected a slight shift in his countenance; he was wondering why she'd waited two months to tell him this life-altering thing, no doubt also wondering if she had been privately considering termination. She had previously been very vocal in her doubts about child-bearing, and they both remembered that very vividly.

"You were planning on telling me, right?" He ventured carefully.

"Yes, of course!" She was sobbing now. He rubbed her back to soothe her, running his hand gently up and down her spine. "It's just—I was told that a pregnancy isn't really 'safe' until after twelve weeks—so I was biding my time until then."

Her distress tore at him, but he didn't know what to say or how to say it. She misinterpreted his silence.

"I was going to tell you last week, Han, I swear, the night we went to that reception on Coruscant," she continued wretchedly. "I had everything all planned out, right down to the syllable, but then halfway through the evening, I—I—"

She stopped, and he noticed how her hands fell nervously on her abdomen. She didn't know how to tell him about the pain, the bleeding, the pure terror she'd experienced that night.

But she didn't have to tell him; he suddenly and vividly remembered how she'd leaned on his arm for support through the evening, how sick and pale she'd looked coming back from the refresher room at the reception hall, how her hands had trembled as she unbraided her hair before bed, how she'd spurned his touch after a kiss good night.

"You thought you were miscarrying," he said lowly, horrified. She nodded.

He shook his head and pulled her close. His heart ached with compassion. "We took vows, Leia," he murmured against her hair, using his free hand to smooth it. "You don't have to go through that kind of thing by yourself. I don't _want_ you to."

"I wasn't sure—I didn't want to tell you only for you to—to be disappointed."

"Disappointed? Look here, Princess." He took her face between his hands and she managed a weak smile at the old nickname. "Sure, I'd be disappointed if we lost the baby." Her heart lightened when she heard him say _we_. There was total sincerity in his eyes. "But I'd never be disappointed _with you_ over that—only if you kept all that pain to yourself. Understand?"

She nodded and used her sleeve to mop up the mess of tears on her face.

"So, you're alright now? You and the baby—everything's fine?" Han looked her over critically.

"Yes, the doctor said that bleeding and cramping is normal in early pregnancy, in moderation."

"And you'll tell me if you feel something's wrong?" He asked concernedly, but she knew it was also a gentle demand.

"Yes, Han. I promise."

"Okay, good. Good." They were silent for several minutes, Han processing the news of his impending fatherhood, and Leia trying to recover from her mortifying emotional meltdown. Even though she loved Han and trusted him implicitly, she hated to cry in front of any one for any reason. He knew that, and gave her ample space to put herself back together.

"I think Luke knows," she called from the 'fresher. "I've caught him looking at me sideways a few times."

"Oh yeah? Some freaky Force-twin-thing?"

"Something like that," she chuckled. He was glad to hear her laugh. She stepped back into the cabin, fresh faced and hair impeccable. "He'll be over the moon when we tell him."

He grinned at the prospect. "You wanna tell him together?"

She closed the distance between them and threaded their fingers together. "I want to do all of this together," she said, laying her head on his chest.

"You know, it's funny," he said, suddenly serious, "Feeling so much for somebody you haven't met. I'd do anything for this kid. I'd take a blaster bolt for this kid!" His face lit up, imagining himself a heroic father.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Leia said wryly, rolling her eyes. "It's been a while since I was in a blaster fight that you didn't help instigate, so consider your words carefully."

He pretended to feel wounded. "Don't you trust me to take care of our kid?"

"Of course I do. But, Han, promise me something." Fear stole into her voice.

He tightened his arms around her. "Anything."

"Promise me that we _will_ do this together, no matter what happens."

He inhaled deeply. He knew this would likely be one of the few joyful moments they'd share together for the duration of Leia's pregnancy. The Empire was still a shadow threatening to darken everything they were doing to establish a New Republic, and their lives were chaos, and likely always would be. He worried for a moment that she wanted something he couldn't give her, couldn't guarantee, but he kissed her and said, "I promise."

Leia jabbed his ribs. "And promise that you won't ever, _ever_ critique my dining habits again."

Han threw back his head and laughed. _That_ was a promise he knew he could keep.


End file.
